


Petunia and Voldemort and the Christmas Carousal

by toutcequonveut



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bittersweet for Petunia though, Christmas, Christmas Party, Comedy, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, F/M, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Humor, I maintain my title as a specialist in crack treated seriously, Office Party
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:48:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28288716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toutcequonveut/pseuds/toutcequonveut
Summary: Petunia and Voldemort plan the office Christmas party together. Will the party be a success? Will feelings start to develop? Will we find out why Voldemort is working at Grunnings?It will take a Christmas miracle to answer all these questions, but if that's what it takes, by golly Petunia is ready to make a miracle happen.
Relationships: Petunia Evans Dursley/Voldemort
Comments: 4
Kudos: 14





	Petunia and Voldemort and the Christmas Carousal

**Author's Note:**

> PROMPT: Petunia and Voldemort can’t stand each other and everyone knows it. When poor planning forces them into close proximity and a steamy working relationship develops, will anything be the same? It’s going to hurt before it feels better.
> 
> [Based off a prompt from this fic generator](https://raw.githack.com/jdm/ficgen/master/index.html)

“Despicable! I tell you, Priscilla, you really just can’t believe what an ass that man is, if you can even call him that.” Petunia slammed her teacup onto the saucer with force to emphasize the depth of her feelings about the man in question. 

“Everyone else seems to like him well enough,” Priscilla said doubtfully. 

“Well everyone else is _wrong_ then! The other day I bumped into him and he came back to my desk to give me a coffee to thank me for the privilege of allowing him to touch my body! Does that not _scream_ harassment and poor breeding? And he only acts that way around _me!_ ”

“Sounds to me like you’ve got an admirer, Pet.”

“Oh don’t you start on that, I don’t want an admirer if he’s going to be like that pile of wet socks in a worn-out bathrobe that he insists is a long suit jacket—”

“Talking about me again?” The door opened and a wave of cold darkness seemed to flow into the room. The other employees in the breakroom shivered involuntarily, but not Petunia. The force of her rage burned too hot to be intimidated by some special effects or charisma or whatever.

“Mr. Voldemort,” greeted Priscilla. “What a surprise to see you! You almost never come in here for your breaks.”

“Yes, well, needs must and all that. Even Dark Lords find themselves in need of tea from time to time.”

“Oh Mr. Voldemort, you always have the most amusing jokes! Imagine, a _Dark Lord_ working at Grunnings!” gushed Veronica, who was Vernon Dursley’s secretary and public enemy #2 as far as Petunia was concerned. It would have been hard _not_ to resent the woman her _ex_ -husband had divorced her for, let alone one who worked at the same company. 

“Ha. Ha. Ha.” Voldemort laughed mechanically. “I am amusing indeed, aren’t I?”

“Only in that you’re a joke,” Petunia muttered under her breath. 

Voldemort turned his gaze on her. She stared resolutely away from it. Really, where did the other office ladies get the tittering idea that his eyes were red like a scarlet moon, or whatever? The eyes in question just looked rather muddy brown to her, mixed with a tint of red clay. She imagined him turning into a paramecium in a sea of wet mud, sinking helplessly further and further into the silty slime, unable to escape but unable to die, cursed to a miserable existence—

Voldemort broke his attempts to engage in a staring contest with her. “Ms. Evans, I came to tell you that the CEO would like to speak with both of us in ten minutes.”

Petunia sniffed in answer, rising to her feet and washing out her cup and saucer. Then, without ever verbally acknowledging Voldemort, she stepped into the ladies’ room to powder her nose. A meeting with the CEO _and_ Voldemort? She would need an extra layer of defense to keep her temper and check and prevent her from going feral in the boardroom. 

*

“Ex _cuse_ me?” 

The extra layer of defense turned out to do no good, because Petunia’s temper went 0 to 100 the instant the CEO announced that she and Voldemort would have to work _together_ to organize the office Christmas party. 

“Mrs. Durs—Ms. Evans, I have chosen you for this responsibility because I know your skills with organizing events are unparalleled among the staff at the company. And Mr. Voldemort,” he added, turning to the man in question, “we would quite appreciate that flair for the dramatic and the special effects skill you have to add a little extra pizzazz to the Christmas party! Nothing like a little winter wind to get the atmosphere just right.” 

“I do not celebrate this... _Christmas_ ,” Voldemort intoned. Petunia was viciously pleased that he seemed to be just as irritated about this assignment as she was.

“You can set up a Hanukkah thing too, if you like,” the CEO offered. “We’re all open-minded at this company, or at least we pretend to be. It’s nearly the 21st century, after all!” He let out a booming laugh that neither Petunia nor Voldemort echoed.

*

Petunia bore through the rest of the day after the meeting with barely contained rage. She knew her eyebrows were scrunched into a semi-permanent inchworm shape but was helpless to change that. To compensate, she did her best to appear a pleasant (or, as pleasant as she could manage) office lady until 5pm, when she clocked out, took the tube home to her cramped flat, and once she was safely ensconced in the small space, finally let out the scream that had been building all day. 

That done, Petunia started the bathtub, stripped out of her clothes, lit some candles, and carried the handset over to the tub and climbed in. She dialed the familiar keys, the printed numbers beginning to wear off with how frequently she dialed them, and waited while it rang.

“Hello?” a bright musical voice answered. In the background, a wailing child and placating deep tone could be heard.

“Lily, you would not _believe_ what happened today.”

*

Petunia Evans used to hate her sister, Lily Evans Potter. 

It was hard not to, when everyone, even their own parents, seemed to favor the redheaded child over the dirty blonde stepchild. Not that she actually _was_ a stepchild, but she certainly felt like one when _Lily_ was chosen to go to the special boarding school in Scotland, _Lily_ was cooed over when she returned home from breaks, _Lily_ would always be nice to Petunia no matter how caustic Petunia reacted to her, _Lily_ was effortlessly kind and sincere and sunshine humanized, so warm and bright that if you felt any darkness in your heart at all you felt burned by her mere presence. 

Petunia had held a shadow inside her since the first time their parents told her she was probably just a late bloomer and in the meantime she should focus on helping Lily shine brighter, since Lily held more potential of the two of them. 

That darkness had led her to fall into Vernon Dursley’s unloving arms. He was at least willing to pay attention to her, though it turned out that the instant a younger, more buxom woman laid eyes on him, that was it for Petunia. He’d done her the “courtesy” of getting her a job at Grunnings as an assistant, and while Petunia would have liked to take the job offer and shove it down his throat, she really didn’t have very good prospects otherwise.

What was most surprising was the way Lily responded to the news. 

She didn’t send a softhearted card full of generous sympathy, she didn’t send a basket of flowers, she didn’t call with contrived condolences.

No, Lily Evans Potter showed up at Petunia’s doorstep with two bottles of vanilla cupcake vodka and cartons of fudge ice cream and asked if they were going to slash the tires anyway, why not just use the knives for the car as well instead of ruining perfectly good keys. 

The realization that even Perfect Angel Lily could have a dark side seemed to break something in the so-recently broken Petunia. She leaned into her sister’s arms right there on the dirty doormat in front of her flat and cried and cried and cried. 

And Lily ushered her inside, rubbed her back, and told her Vernon didn’t deserve to be in the same room with her, really it was a crime that their two names even shared the piece of paper the finalized divorce was printed on. She listened as Petunia ranted and raged, not saying a word even when Lily herself was the subject of her sister’s fury.

By the end of the night, Petunia lay exhausted in Lily’s lap and asked if she could ever accept such a bitter, vindictive older sister.

Lily had only smiled and asked where Vernon lived.

*

“I can’t believe they have you working with that arse!” Lily cursed. “And your boss is even _worse_ , which is saying something. What he did is so beyond inappropriate, it’s disgusting. He’s being completely disrespectful to _everyone_ who doesn’t celebrate Christmas, especially Jewish people.” In the background, Harry’s tiny voice could be heard yelling “ARSE??” while James hurriedly hushed him and began the universal spiel about Bad Words and Why Only Adults Should Use Them.

“Isn’t he unbelievable?” Petunia cried. “I quite honestly think I’d rather work with You-Know-Who if only to slap my boss in the face.”

“Ugh, that’s a strong statement there. You won’t even say the name of that coworker of yours—and trust me, I _am_ curious— but you hate your boss more than him?”

“One hundred percent. Also, after what you did to Vernon, I’ve learned I need to be careful about allowing you access to my enemies.” The two sisters dissolved into a fit of giggles thinking of what Lily had inflicted on Vernon the night of Petunia’s divorce.

Eventually they calmed down enough that Petunia could continue speaking. “Still, I’m going to have to work with the bastard or lose my job, and you know I need it.”

“That’s true. I wish you’d let me help, Tuney.”

Petunia waved her hand dismissively at the familiar offer. “I know, Lils, don’t worry about it. I can take care of myself.”

*

It was the first meeting of the Christmas Carousal Committee. Petunia sat across from Voldemort at the little table in the office they’d been granted for planning purposes. Both wore bright red suede headbands topped with reindeer antlers on Petunia’s and four large Christmas light bulbs on Voldemort’s. Petunia's came with huge sunglasses that served to support the big red sphere of a nose that sat atop her own. 

After a lengthy silence as the two stared each other down, Petunia spoke, “This is stupid.”

“Agreed. These trivialities are beneath Lord Voldemort.”

Petunia grimaced. What a stunted, pubertal, self-important bozo, to actually refer to himself in third person. And also… “Oh, so you’re a lord now, are you? Must be tough being landed gentry. I don’t know if anyone’s said yet, but typically it’s bad taste to flaunt your titles. In fact, I’m pretty sure there was this whole insurgence or something a while back to accentuate just how little someone’s ‘noble’ blood matters.” A sinister smile bloomed to life on Petunia's lips. “Even _you_ bleed red, _Mr._ Voldemort.”

Voldemort leaned closer, causing the red-yellow-green-blue bulbs on his band to bop softly back and forth on the springs that attached to his headband. Petunia had initially been livid at their boss’s insistence that they wear the accessories to “stretch their festive brain muscles”, whatever that meant. Now, she could kind of see the appeal. Anything that made Voldemort look like a laughingstock was a worthy invention. “Ms. Petunia, I can only hope to convince you of how very much blood _does_ matter. Perhaps over dinner tonight?”

Petunia scoffed, incredulous at the “flirting”. Voldemort was probably just trying to pretend to like her as some kind of sick joke. “You’ll have to impress me before I let you ‘show’ me anything, _Mr._ Voldemort. Now, what ideas do you have?”

“For what,” Voldemort growled, leaning in closer, trying his best to stare into her eyes. Petunia silently thanked the presence of the huge sunglasses on her face that obscured his view.

“This bloody Christmas party, of course. Not that you celebrate Christmas.”

“Flames. Screaming. Blood red as wine flowing freely.” Voldemort’s lips curled up cruelly. “And us at the heart of it all, watching our enemies burn. Does that not sound delightful?”

Petunia held up a finger, signaling him to wait as age scribbled on her notepad. “Flames and screaming… so candles, Christmas carol karaoke, and...what was it? Wine red as blood, that’s it. Maybe a Pinot Noir? Everyone loves that one. Or maybe we could do a wine tasting! Huh. Voldemort, you might really have a knack for this! Maybe we won’t get fired for throwing the crummiest party in the 80s!”

“Anything for you, Ms. Evans. Perhaps you would accompany me to sample choice wines?”

“Don’t push your luck. Voldy.”

*

Despite her optimism at Voldemort’s surprisingly useful contribution to their task, the man immediately took a jump off the diving board into the depths of Petunia’s hatred. 

“What do you _mean_ you won’t help source any of the supplies? Do you have any idea how tough it is to arrange decorations, events, and catering? I can’t do that all myself, I still have my regular work to do!”

Voldemort waved his hand lazily. “Such work is beneath me. Doubtless things will fall into place as they need to.” His nonexistent lips pulled into a sneer. “I find myself… _unenthused_ to pursue the success of this event, given the nature of our CEO.”

Privately, Petunia agreed. However, she couldn’t exactly let the party be a flop and risk losing this job. “Regardless, not all of us can be so flippant about our careers,” she sniffed. “Anyway, what do you think you’re playing at? ‘Things will fall into place?’ Spoken like a true _man_. Things don’t ‘fall into place’, they succeed because the lady of the house works her arse off!” Unbidden, Vernon’s refusal to lift a finger to help around the house sprang to Petunia’s mind.

“Ha. Ha. Ha.” Voldemort let out his disturbing laugh again. Petunia vaguely wondered if he had ever murdered anyone. He sure sounded like someone in one of those crime dramas Lily loved watching. “What an amusing viewpoint you have, Ms. Evans. You do have such a sense of humor.”

Petunia saw red, and not the festive kind either. Without thinking about it, she walked right up to Voldemort and poked him hard in the chest. “Listen here, you scumbag. You will _not_ ruin my life even more than you already have and leave _me_ to clean up your mess as well. If you don’t want to do any of the _actual_ work, fine. I’ll plan it out, and you will do what _I_ tell you to do so that this party goes off without a hitch,” _and I finally get promoted_ , she finished silently.

If possible, Voldemort’s sneer deepened into an even uglier one. “No one, least of all _you_ , woman, gives orders to _Lord Voldemort_.” he declared.

Petunia had had enough. Her hand shot out and grabbed Voldemort’s arm and pulled at the same time as she swept her leg out, kicking his knees out from under him. Voldemort toppled in surprise, and Petunia took the opportunity to pin his hands over his head with one arm, her knees straddled on either side of his chest. Her other hand was clenched around his chin, squeezing his jaw so his lips puckered in a wholly unattractive way. She leaned over him until their breaths shared air and their noses were almost touching, which was really more of Petunia’s doing than Voldemort’s since his nose was so flat.

“You’re talking like you want me to clean your mouth out with soap. You think you’re some hot shit, don’t you? Well guess what, this _woman_ just got the best of you, so maybe you need to rethink your prejudices, you sexist, chauvinistic _pig!”_

Her piece said, Petunia released her painful grip on Voldemort’s chin and fluidly rose to her feet. She left the room without looking back, but she didn’t need to see to know Voldemort’s eyes were on her. 

*

“Aren’t you glad I made you go to those self-defense classes now?” Lily asked, sounding smug. 

“Absolutely. The piece of shit didn’t even know what hit him,” Petunia snickered and shifted the phone to her other hand. “I still can’t believe You-Know-Who just expected me to do everything because organizing a party is beneath him.”

“ _I_ can. Some people think they’re so great the world should bow down at the twitch of an eyebrow hair. Did I ever tell you about what that barmy old headmaster at my old school expected us to do just because he said so? He wouldn’t hear any counterpoints or alternative solutions.”

“What’d he do?” Petunia felt the familiar bitterness rise in her heart at the mention of Dumbledore and the reminder of a rejection letter written in his own hand.

“He wanted us to go into hiding because that criminal mastermind was looking for us, remember that?”

“Yes, and?”

“So he then told us where we were going to hide and who we were going to make our trusted confidant, the only one other than us who would know where we were. Which is wild, because there’s no place safer than James’s family’s place, it’s filled with hundreds of years’ worth of protective magic, and there’s no reason we couldn’t stay there. So we did that but _pretended_ to go along with Dumbledore’s plan and guess what? The person he told us to trust ended up betraying us! Oh, James was furious and hurt, because it was one of his close friends, but now we know he’s a traitor and he can’t hurt us anymore. More importantly, Harry’s alive and safe.”

Petunia could only blink dumbly at the tale. Her own problems seemed pale in comparison to what Lily had been through. She’d known Lily and her family were still in hiding, but somehow she hadn’t considered the full implications of _why_ that was the case. “Are you going to be okay, Lils?”

“Tuney, we’re fine. This family home is safer than a fortress.”

“And what about that criminal mastermind, do you know where he is or what he’s up to now?”

“No-o-o,” Lily drew the word out. Petunia could perfectly picture the way she chewed her lip when she was nervous but trying not to think about it. “No one’s heard anything from his or his followers for a few months now. I’m sure he’s still trying to track us down, but we just don’t know how, and I hardly want to go consult with Dumbledore again after that whole mess.” She sighed gustily. “It’s been over two years now, and while I wish we could say that no news is good news, the silence is just plain _eerie._ ”

“I can imagine,” Petunia murmured. 

“Anyway, let’s talk more about your life, it’s much more interesting than mine. What kind of wildly inappropriate office attire did Veronica wear today?”

“Oh my goodness Lils, you could not even _begin_ to guess…”

*

Petunia stepped into the room and nearly fell onto her bum in shock. 

Where before the office had been a bleak room with only a table, two chairs, a whiteboard, and no window, it had now transformed. The walls were draped with dark red velvet curtains, silver stars twinkling elegantly among the folds. Shimmering snowflakes dangled from the ceiling, turning slowly in that invisible wind Voldemort always seemed to bring with him. Every horizontal surface was covered with black wax candles that somehow let off a cold air instead of the heat one might expect in a tiny room filled with candles.

“Isn’t this a fire hazard?” Petunia breathed faintly.

“Ms. Evans,” Voldemort announced, rising fluidly to his feet. “You need only worry about the fire of my burning passion—no.” He stopped, taking a deep inhale and exhale. “I mean to say, I have reflected deeply about your words from our last encounter and have come to the conclusion that I must change my behavior. It is clear that my intentions made you uncomfortable, which is the opposite of what I want.” He swept an arm across the room, somehow not catching his ridiculously droopy sleeve on fire amidst all the candles. “I can only hope my efforts at providing a sample for the event decor can begin to make up for my lackluster participation at our last meeting.”

“It certainly makes an impression,” Petunia commented. “Very well. I’ll forgive you for now, but one more _hint_ at returning to your old ways and I will make you _regret_ it.”

“Of course, Ms. Evans.”

“Now, I like the atmosphere of what you’ve got, so let’s expand this to how it’ll tie in with the karaoke and the wine tasting…”

*

Since Voldemort’s apology, Petunia had found herself looking at the man with fresh eyes. She truly had not expected him to have the capability of listening to her, considering his own faults, and making an effort to change his behavior.

She may have judged him too hastily based on first impressions. He clearly had good taste, as seen in his decorating sense, and Petunia noticed now that he also had quite a handsome face despite being significantly older than her. His lips were thin, just like her own, and his hands were long and slender. His hair was thinning as well, but the rich chestnut brown of it still fell in an attractive wave across his forehead. The most unsettling thing about him really was just the eyes, which burned a little _too_ brightly in that muddy red-brown color.

Petunia felt those eyes on her every time they touched on her body even when her back was turned. And oh, she _knew_ he was looking. His gaze was like a warm caress traveling down her long neck, across her shoulders, sweeping down her uncomfortably tall form that she’d always hated (oh, to be small and cute like Lily!). But now he didn’t go out of his way to say uncomfortable, flirtatious things to her. Petunia found that in these circumstances, she was beginning to find the attention flattering. She still didn’t look him in the eyes, because it wouldn’t do for _him_ to know she liked that he was looking. She didn’t want to be a slag, after all.

*

Party planning proceeded properly and soon enough, it was the 24th and the day of the Christmas Carousal was upon them. 

Petunia stood back with hands on her hips and surveyed her merry coworkers. Several stood around the wine tasting station, laughing and chatting. The sounds of a trio belting out _Last Christmas_ barely filtered through the nearly invisible sound barrier technology Voldemort had found for the karaoke area. Candles flickered on every surface, reflecting off the crystalline snowflakes that hung from the ceilings. Every person in the room sported the red headbands with boppers of different designs—Petunia’s own had two Christmas trees with stars at the top as well as the same sunglasses and bright red nose as her first one. She’d grown rather fond of the design, and though it rankled her to even tacitly approve that her boss had good taste sometimes, she had to admit the bopper headbands multiplied the air of festivity in the room. 

“Ms. Evans.” 

Petunia turned to face the owner of that dark (dare she say sexy?) voice. “Mr. Voldemort! We really did it, didn’t we? The party is a smashing success!”

“Indeed,” Voldemort murmured. “Would you do the honor of accompanying me tonight?”

Petunia felt a light blush stain her cheeks. “I suppose I could. Come along, I want to see if the canapés we catered are as delicious as advertised.”

*

Time passed in a blur of wine, hors d’œuvres, and snickering over the items others had brought for the gift auction. At one memorable moment, Voldemort persuaded her to duet with him in a surprisingly intense karaoke rendition of Jingle Bells. 

Petunia couldn’t believe how much fun she was having with the man she’d previously hated. She couldn’t stop sneaking glances at him from behind her Christmas tree/Rudolph sunglasses, looking away every time he turned his head abruptly to try and catch her in the act. Her fingers itched with the desire to intertwine with his own long ones. Even his mechanical laughter as he engaged in some perfunctory small talk with Veronica wormed its way into her insides. She wanted to discover more about him. She wanted to be the one to make him laugh, fully and wholly. Her heart fluttered, and Petunia was struck with the sudden realization that she might be falling in love with Voldemort. 

She had no time to consider the possibility more because the CEO was now climbing on a table. “EVERYONE!” he boomed. “It’s almost midnight! Get your Christmas greetings ready! Ten! Nine! Eight!”

“Ms. Evans.”

Petunia turned to look at Voldemort, who had broken away from Veronica and now stood beside her. “Yes, Mr. Voldemort? And you can call me Petunia. I think we’ve proven ourselves to be that intimate enough for that.”

“Seven! Six! Five!”

“Please, call me Voldemort.” He leaned in slowly until his thin lips were only a breath away from her own thin lips. “If I may be so presumptuous to be _more_ intimate…” 

“Four! Three! Two!”

“Wait.” Petunia lifted her hands and lowered the sunglasses, but she closed her eyes as soon as the lenses slipped away. She wanted to bask in the magic of the moment.

“One!”

“Petunia…” 

“ _MERRY CHRISTMAS!_ ”

She felt his lips cover her own, and the coldness of them did not detract from the romance of her first kiss with Voldemort. Her heart pounded wildly, blood rushing to her cheeks and also somewhere down south. It was a closed-mouth kiss, and no other part of their bodies were touching, but somehow it was more heated than anything she’d ever shared with Vernon. 

The kiss seemed to go on and on, an instant that stretched to eternity. Petunia rejoiced in the sensation of Voldemort’s lips on hers and then mourned their loss as he began to pull away. She opened her eyes and, for the first time, met his gaze head-on.

Voldemort’s eyes flashed true red (surely from all the candles and decorations) as they stared directly into her own. A funny feeling rose in her, and then—

_BANG!_

The crack seemed to reverberate for hours condensed into one second. Petunia blinked, and Voldemort was gone.

Or rather, he was on the ground, knocked out cold. Lily sat atop him, her wand pointed between his eyes as she chanted some mystical hocus-pocus. Before Petunia’s eyes, her paramour’s body faded out of existence, leaving her sister sitting on the floor in her pajamas.

“What…?”

“Not here,” Lily whispered, getting to her feet and dusting off. She snatched one of the dangling crystals from the ceiling and pointed her wand at it. “Close your eyes, Tuney. _Obliviate!_ ”

*

“Spill.”

Petunia sat across from Lily at the kitchen table in Potter Place, a mug of hot cocoa grasped between nerveless fingers. Lily took a sip of her own cocoa and leaned back in her chair.

“You remember that criminal mastermind who’s after us? That was him.”

“Voldemort?” Petunia felt her stomach drop even further, which she didn’t think was possible but then again, magic was real so why not?

“Yes. Most people in the magical world don’t dare to say his name, though. Anyway, after we smoked out his traitor in our camp, we knew he’d be trying some other way to find us. I was worried he’d come after you, so I put magical protections on your flat and also on your mind.”

“You did _what?”_ Petunia screeched. Her hands flew to the sides of her head, searching as if she might be able to _feel_ the magic Lily had inflicted on her.

“Tuney, please, I had to! You have no idea what that monster could have done—”

“Oh, I have a fairly good idea of what he could have done if you hadn’t interrupted—”

“—And besides, it was basically a shield with an alarm built in to let me know if he tried to read your mind.”

“Wait, what?”

Lily nodded, a grimace marring her pretty features. “He was infamous not only for torturing and killing those with blood he considered dirty, but also for his mindreading skills. And it’s not like just reading a book. What he would do was more akin to ripping out pages in a book until he grabbed the one he wanted. If he’d done that to you, you would’ve been little more than a vegetable afterwards.”

“He wouldn’t…”

“I’m so sorry, Tuney.” Tears began to fill Lily’s bright green eyes. “I didn’t know _your_ You-Know-Who was the same as _our_ You-Know-Who. I could kick myself for letting him spend so much time with you. He would have murdered Harry, do you know that? If he would kill an innocent little child, I can barely stand to think of what he would have done to _you_.”

Petunia gulped. She reached a hand out and grasped one of Lily’s. “You were protecting me.”

“As best I could. When the alarm went off, the magic pulled me directly to your location, and I used what James and I have had prepared since Halloween of 1981.” She pulled down her neckline a little to reveal an ornate silver amulet with glittering opals set in a runic design. “This is an heirloom artifact from James’s family in India. With the right incantation, it turned Voldemort’s body and soul into pure magic and will keep him contained until the magical seal is broken.”

“Isn’t that illegal?”

Lily’s expression hardened. “So is murdering and torturing hundreds if not thousands of people.” 

“Fair enough.” Petunia took a deep breath. “Well, I’m glad this is finally over for you. I still can’t believe you haven’t left your home for two years.”

“You and me both. I think I’ve rearranged the living room 72 times.”

“You and James can finally go on that anniversary trip you’ve been talking about forever. Harry can go to school. It’s...it’s like a... Christmas miracle.” Unbidden, Petunia’s eyes began to water at the memory of what she’d thought was going to be her own Christmas miracle.

“It really is. Happy Christmas, Tuney.”

“Happy Christmas Lily.”

And if Petunia started to cry in earnest, let Lily think it was because she was so caring and loving that they were tears of relief for her sister. No one had to know they were for a flame snuffed before it could truly burn, and for the memory seared into her soul of that ill-fated kiss with Lord Voldemort.

**Author's Note:**

> I made myself sad?? With the ending of my own crackfic??? This shouldn't be allowed.  
> Come yell at me on tumblr [@cequonveut](https://cequonveut.tumblr.com)


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